


Petals Under Our Skin

by Chogisad



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chogisad/pseuds/Chogisad
Summary: Hanahaki Disease: an illness where the patient coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.--“Sehun’s throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it; growing and grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love.”





	Petals Under Our Skin

Sehun hates seasonal allergies. Before he's brushed his teeth, his body reminds him that it despises nature. He sneezes toothpaste onto the mirror, starts building pyramids from dirty tissues, and the dorm echoes with his sniffling.

On the day Sehun coughs up his first petal, he wants to blame his allergies. It floats, gentle and white, atop his coffee, and Sehun can only blink. He clears his throat, runs his tongue over his teeth, and stares, trying to stop the world from spinning. 

"You okay?" Jongin asks and Sehun nods, still looking around the room, hoping to find a stray rose to take responsibility. The kitchen counters are bare, the table only playing host to the round terrarium Kyungsoo made a few weeks ago. 

"I-I think I'm coming down with something?" He voices a fading question. Jongin's brow furrows with familiar concern, searching for the telltale signs of illness before he motions toward the cupboards. Their eyes meet, and Sehun's heart stutters--fearful.

"We have Vitamin C supplements. Take a couple." 

Sehun is in a daze but he nods. His hands tremble slightly as he pours a full mug of coffee down the drain, as he watches the petal get stuck in the strainer.

"Too much sugar?" Jongin asks behind him and Sehun can't find his voice. He wonders if he should pinch himself, maybe attempt to control the details of what must be a lucid dream.

"Jongin-" Sehun clears his throat. "D-do the petals often kill people?"

He doesn't need to explain any further. Jongin knows what he's referring to; the curse of unrequited love.

"No." Jongin replies. "People usually get the operation. It sucks, but not everyone is willing to die for love, you know?"

And Sehun thinks he must be going crazy. But he picks up the coffee stained petal, feels it's smooth skin between the pads of his fingers and thinks of the boy who smells like spring and forests. He thinks of late night conversations and sharing meals, thinks of the warmth of his body, always so steady, always reminding him of home, and how none of this was supposed to happen.

"Of course." Sehun replies, disbelief catching on the last syllable. 

He braces himself against the kitchen sink. His thoughts race, a buzz of chaos and panic-- _petals, empty, operation, not everyone is willing to die for love,_ \-- and Jongin waits, curious to the turn in conversation.

"Why do you ask?"

Sehun holds his breath. The truth rattles around inside his chest, cacophony and confession. The pressure builds, heavy and hot and weighing and Sehun is so afraid. Tremors and terror, he feels like he'll burst, he'll explode into a mess of all the pieces of himself he could not keep together. The words press, press, press; _I'm in love with him, Jongin! So stupidly in love with him that my own body is gonna choke it out of me._

The truth clamors; stupid and naive, and Sehun feels nauseous. 

He changes the subject. Jongin fills the silence with idle talk of dance practice and Sehun nods along. He pretends he cares, but hes too lost. Too overcome by confusion, by a hazy disarray of everything he wishes he could've controlled. 

So Sehun tells himself he imagined the whole ordeal. He throws the petal away amongst food wrappers and old yogurt containers and moves forward-- exhausted, his mind found a disingenous outlet, a brief break in reality. But then Sehun wakes to a rose petal on his pillow, a rose petal on the white tile of the shower, a petal next to his sweatshirt.

In a matter of days, he finds himself  cowering in the darkness of his room. He crafts excuses of stomach aches and a pounding in his temple. The others worry; they try to pump him full of medicine that is essentially useless. He retreats and shoves petal after petal in pockets and in the back of drawers. He's buying for time, unsure and frightened, imagining his love slowly entrenching itself between the crevices of his ribs.

So Sehun stays away from _him,_ from the source of the affliction, the cause of the chaos. Somewhere in his heart, Sehun still believes he can beat this, still believes he can teach himself to stop loving in such a tragic, selfish way. Like the petals, he tucks away memories of walks along Han River, of the car rides and plane rides where they'd spend hours whispering secrets as they crossed borders. The nights that follow, Sehun lays in bed, cold and alone and coughing into his pillow. On the other side of the door, gentle voice that sounds like home offers Sehun tea and comfort, offers Sehun more symptoms and rapid escalation of this deadly disease. Sehun pretends he's asleep, pretends he can't hear the concern, the need to make him better. Sehun will suffer through the withdrawals if it means he can survive for just a little bit longer.

No one can help him now.

Google showcases 20 million search results. The internet and the world can explain the faults of his body better than he can. He doesn't want to read about the operation. He doesn't want to think of the emptiness that follows, hallow echo and missing pieces.

He finds the origin of _Hanahaki Disease_ in a book of Japanese myths. The volume is old and tearing, yearning to outlast the consequences of time, and Sehun turns the fringed pages with care.

_'Love blooms just as quickly as it wilts.'_

Sehun reads the story of a prince who became sick with unrequited love. His longing became corporeal, growing and spreading within his body. Thorns and roses; they suffocated him from the inside and the prince died atop a pile of petals his body couldn't contain anymore. 

Sehun knows he shouldn't, but he tears the entire page out of the book and folds it into his pocket. His throat is sore and he thinks he can feel it, growing, grabbing at his organs, reminding him of how bad he is at love. Sehun wants to rip his chest open there and then, wants to make a bloody spectacle as penetance for loving someone incorrectly. 

It hurts, to set love down in the darkness, to plant seeds with no hope of something beautiful ever flourishing. But Sehun's heart hums, all naive and misplaced faith, because it doesn't know how else to survive anymore.

When his lungs contract, over and over again, Sehun always shuts his eyes, clenches his fists around memories that only worsen his situation, that only barrel him closer and closer to suffocating. The pain flares, real and vengeful, and Sehun can't help it. He thinks of the boy he loves, all blush and humble smile. Sehun thinks of the boy who smells like spring, whose eyes remind him of the ocean and every good thought he's ever spoken into the universe. On some mornings, this love feels like it's worth dying for.

And then Chanyeol finds his petals. Sehun tries to deny it, but Chanyeol is a furious storm, tearing open drawers, lifting bed sheets, and Sehun can only watch in shameful silence as the carpet litters with white.

"How long?" Chanyeol's voice strains. His eyes dance with a defensive animosity, reproachful, and Sehun can see the way his hands shake. Sehun can feel a familiar fear, just as cloying, just as hopeless and desolate. 

"A couple of weeks," Sehun whispers. He stares at his shoes. He crushes a petal under one of his soles.

"Is it-"

"Don't." Sehun warns. "It doesn't matter who it is."

Chanyeol stares at him; disbelieving, afraid, pitying, and Sehun wants to run. He wants to escape, wants to wake up from this nightmare scenario to a world where he was built for happiness too. He wants to scream. He wants to shake Chanyeol, wants to ask the fucking universe who he hurt enough to deserve this. 

"You can't tell anyone," Sehun whispers, his eyes pleading, first tears ready to pay their respects. Chanyeol opens and closes his mouth. He wants to object. Chanyeol wants drive Sehun to the hospital right there and then.

"When are you getting the operation?" Chanyeol asks, crumpling three petals between his fist.

The silence stretches between them, loud and heavy. It expands, and Sehun hangs his head with shame, can't bear to acknowledge his own cowardice, or all the misgivings of his greedy heart. With cold dread, Chanyeol almost drowns in the silence. He realizes Sehun doesn't have an answer. Sehun won't have an answer.

"Sehun?" Chanyeol's voice is quiet, trembling, and Sehun is suddenly standing at the edge of a precipice. He's standing a step before the darkness, before a void trying to ease his conscience, before gentle voice saying it could all be over soon.

But in that moment, Sehun shoulders Chanyeol's pain as well. He shoulders guilt and shame and the thought that no one will forgive him if he chooses to die.

"In a month," Sehun lies. It's easier this way. Three words are faster than trying to explain why the operation wasn't an option, why he was going to wait until a flower choked the love out of him. 

"In a month..." he repeats to himself, lets his heartbeat adjust to the hymn of second chances. Chanyeol nods before they're both scooping up petals, shoving Sehun's white ocean into black plastic bags. 

From then on, Chanyeol agrees to be his cover. They concoct a story of a weeks-long trip to Paris. They buy plane tickets they'll never use, pack suitcases they'll leave in Chanyeols car while they're at the hospital. This secret stays between them; it'll be buried with whatever other feelings they rip from Sehun's body. 

A week before it's all supposed to be over, Sehun runs out of excuses. He can't talk his way out of a birthday dinner, and they all pile into one of Seoul's most expensive restaurants. Sehun takes deep breaths, orders too many glasses of water, and Chanyeol's gaze never leaves him. 

_'Please take me home.'_ He texts Chanyeol, and the latter tries his hardest to get them out.

The coughing starts as Sehun stands up to leave. It's a light clearing of the throat and Chanyeol rushes to his side. In a matter of seconds however, his lungs are contracting and Sehun's entire body spasms. He falls, grabbing for something to stable his frame, and the room becomes shattered glass and chaos as he pulls the tablecloth to the floor with him.

The others are frozen in horror as Chanyeol cradles Sehun's head, who's body convulses with the effort of holding on to the petals. He can't do it, and they watch as the floor becomes a white, flowery ocean, speckled with blood, and everything Sehun has ever regretted.

Junmyeon steps forward, questions and anger on his lips, but it all fades as the coughing quiets. Chanyeol is crying. Their shocked stares bore into him, and he can feel that they waited too long, and nobody speaks. 

"C-call an ambulance," Chanyeol's voice breaks.

Sehun's entire being is exhausted. A single tear makes its way down his cheek, and he wishes he had the strength to apologize. 

Sehun looks up at Junmyeon with resigned eyes and a sad smile. His voice is a feeble whimper, but everyone in the room hears him. 

"White roses." Sehun coughs. _"Th-they're your favorite."_

Junmyeon is the only one to ride in the ambulance with him. 

"Stop- stop," He orders, batting Sehun's hands away as he tries to remove the mask that will force air into his lungs. Junmyeon intertwines their fingers and watches as the mask's plastic fogs with each labored breath. 

"I-I'm sorry," Sehun tries. It's too little, too late, but Junmyeon shakes his head. 

"You don't have to apologize. Focus on breathing." 

At the hospital, Sehun comes in and out of consciousness. His world transforms into tubes and monitors and too many xrays. Wires and pumps funnel air into his body, and Sehun lets the drugs ease his conscience. 

Hours later, they think he's sleeping. Sehun knows Suho refused to leave the room, and now, someone lays something soft at his side.

"I brought him a bear," Chanyeol says, hesitant, and Sehun hears the shuffle as he takes one of the empty seats. "I thought flowers were too ironic." 

The silence that follows is tense. Friendship strains under feelings of betrayal and Sehun knows it's his fault. This love will slash more than his insides apart. 

"I had a right to know," Junmyeon grits out. Sehun can hear the indignation, the feeling of disloyalty and duplicity, in his voice.

"He didn't want you to know." Chanyeol sighs, his words tired. 

Culpable, Sehun swallows the guilt burning his throat. This mess; It pits them against each other in a blaming game, and the air is cold with their resentment. 

"That's not fair and you should've-"

"Would it make a difference?" Chanyeol snaps.

Another silence envelops them, rancorous and unforgiving.

The machine monitoring Sehun's heart spikes, but neither of them notice. Sehun can imagine Chanyeol's spiteful stare; he can imagine Junmyeon's helplessness tearing him apart.

"He's my best friend." Junmyeon whispers, and Sehun wishes he had more morphine to numb this pain.

"Would you have loved him like he needed you to?" 

Sehun doesn't want to hear the answer; he holds the little breath he still has left and wishes none of this had ever happened. 

" _Of course._ " 

And just like that, Sehun wants all of it to be over. 

Hours before the operation, Sehun is drifting into unconsciousness. The others visit, promising presents and trips as soon he's on his feet again. None of them can hold his gaze for too long however; they're all aware Sehun will be a different person when it's time to wake.

Sehun tries not to think too much. He lets the anesthesia eat away at the time he has left. He stops grappling with his own misfortune, stops cursing the universe, and instead, resigns himself to a different kind of darkness. 

Already, Sehun's thoughts are blurring together, a mess of memories and guilt. His stubborn love fights the morphine, clings to the moments that put him on this hospital bed in the first place. His eyes flutter, two tired butterflies, and he wonders how long he has before the flower grips his battered heart.

Junmyeon is crying at his bedside, tears soft like the first rain of spring. 

Sehun tries to move his hand, but Junmyeon beats him to it. His skin is warm, and his thumb rubs comforting strides against Sehun's knuckles. 

"I just needed more time," he murmurs, wiping away the apologetic tears kissing his cheeks.

Sehun tries to shake his head, but his body fails him. His heart is longing for survival, and his faulty mind-- with all its affection and afflictions-- can't hold out against the drugs courting him to sleep. 

Sehun wants to stay awake though. He wants to tell Junmyeon this isn't his fault, that he wants him to fall in love with someone he chooses. Sehun does not want to be loved out of responsibility, out of pity. He'd rather tear the most beautiful thing he's ever felt out of his own body, than force Junmyeon to love him in order to save him. He'd rather give up this love, than hold Junmyeon's heart as a hostage, as a sacrifice, as something he had no right to.

His line of vision darkens, and as he drifts into unconsciousness, Sehun thinks of only one night. 

They climbed to the roof of their building. Junmyeon wanted to see the meteor shower, and like so many other times, Sehun had indulged him. They'd lied side by side, searching the skies for nonexistent stars, all of them hiding behind the unfortunate embrace of pollution. Sehun had fallen asleep to Junmyeon's quiet breathing, to the thought that this boy was prettier than any constellation. In the darkness, Sehun had thought, 'I love you,' for the first time; it was innocent and scared and honest, gentle confession for only the moon to hear.

_I love you._

Sehun keeps those words in the back of his mind. They're a mournful lullaby that ease him to sleep. He holds onto them for as long as possible, until the operation rips them out of his body.

The next day, Sehun wakes to a room full of balloons and stuffed animals. Junmyeon is asleep in the chair next to him, his body slumped at an awkward angle. Sehun is too bleary to make much sense of anything, to register the empty echo of his own heart. It reaches for a feeling that doesn’t exist anymore; it only grasps at empty air.

The room shifts out of focus, the sedatives kick in, but he thinks he sees Junmyeon's fist curled around the petals of a violet. Sehun gives in to unconsciousness with the sleepy thought that violets are his favorite flower.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think!


End file.
